


ghost in the sheets

by evanstans (sorrylovebut)



Category: The Song of Achilles - Madeline Miller
Genre: Angst, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Mental Anguish, Mental Breakdown
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-23
Updated: 2014-11-23
Packaged: 2018-02-26 16:45:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2659169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sorrylovebut/pseuds/evanstans
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“The poets are going to get us all wrong, Patroclus,” Achilles laughs bitterly after another minute, looking up at the stars. “They are never going to know the proper way to describe your laugh, or the color of your eyes. They will not know your smile, nor will I describe it for them. They will never know how to transcribe the way your voice caught on my name, they will never know-” Achilles chokes, clenching the spear in his fist. </p>
<p>His words disappear into the salty air, floating away as whispered promises on the backs of memories.</p>
            </blockquote>





	ghost in the sheets

**Author's Note:**

> i listened to haunted by beyonce while rereading the very end of the song of achilles and that was a very bad decision
> 
> tumblr; ofthe107th.co.vu

Achilles stumbles to the beach the night he receives the news. He can not look at the lifeless body, can't fight the internal screams that it's his fault. 

Patroclus' body is lying in his tent, skin pale and a horribly dark red tainting his armor. Achilles can't think straight, can barely put one foot in front of the other as he fights to remember how to breathe.

The beach is dark when he arrives, the water darker. He does not spare a thought for his mother, lurking somewhere in the deep. Memories of her have no place here.

Everything feels out of place, now.

He clutches the spear in his hands, taps the arrowhead. It pricks his finger slightly, just lightly piercing the skin. _Useless._

“This is a sight you would have laughed at, Patroclus,” he begins, knowing he has to start somewhere. “A beach. I'm sending you the words I wish you could have heard in person from the ocean shore.”

“You kissed me on one of these, once,” Achilles murmurs, pacing slightly. His fist grips the spear tightly as he tries to keep himself from falling apart. “I remember every moment of it. I always will.”

“The poets are going to get us all wrong, Patroclus,” Achilles laughs bitterly after another minute, looking up at the stars. “They are never going to know the proper way to describe your laugh, or the color of your eyes. They will not know your smile, nor will I describe it for them. They will never know how to transcribe the way your voice caught on my name, they will never know-” Achilles chokes, clenching the spear in his fist. 

His words disappear into the salty air, floating away as whispered promises on the backs of memories.

He looks out onto the sea, past the waves crashing against the shore, away from the moon hanging high in the sky. He wonders if Patroclus has already gone on, or if a part of him is still here.

He wonders if he truly is as lonely as he feels.

The thought of eternal silence is unbearable, and his last bit of sanity snaps.

“Oh, Patroclus, why!” Achilles screams then, throwing the spear as hard as he can. The tip pierces through the sandy shore, sharp and quick, and his stomach lurches when he pictures Patroclus, falling to the ground, spear through his-

“No!” Achilles screams, sinking to his knees. The grains scratch against his knees, and the air is suffocating, his airways tight with the stench of burning wood and rotting flesh.

His head throbs as he covers his ears with his hands. His pulse roars, pulsing through his veins at the speed of light, heart rabbiting in his chest in a vain attempt to keep up with the adrenaline in his veins. He's so alone, so cold, despite being in the midst of a blazing war zone. No one is grieving like he is, and no one will understand why he will never move past this.

Patroclus was the one light in his life, his one guiding star, and now, looking at the darkness that surrounds him, he knows he will never smile again.

“I can't do this. I can't-” Achilles swallows, looking towards the stars again. 

He hopes to catch a glimpse, a hint of a toothy smile or the flash of sea foam eyes, but the stars render nothing. The sky is empty, despite being full of beauty. Everything pales in comparison to the golden radiance of someone who's gone. Achilles can't look at himself, can't look at the sea or the sky or the stars. It's useless, all of it.

“I don't know how to live without you,” Achilles whispers, covering his mouth with his hands as he whispers the words to no one. No one is listening, and for the first time since he was an idiot child in Phthia, he feels alone.

He recalls the first night they lay together in the mountains, with Chiron a little ways away and Thetis turning a blind eye. He remembers how Patroclus lay beside him, Achilles' fingers pressed against his bare chest. His palm flat over Patroclus' heart. He remembers it being so quiet he was able to hear Patroclus' heart beat as well as feel it.

“It beats for you, now,” Patroclus had whispered, lips against his cheek. Achilles had squeezed his eyes shut, wrapped an arm around his narrow waist and pulled him further against him. “All for you.”

“If you are there,” Achilles whispers, looking up at the sky once more as he drags himself away from bright memories towards lonely darkness. “If you are still here, somewhere, please.” Achilles shuts his eyes, another tear escaping the corner of them.

“Haunt me. I do not care if it drives me insane. I cannot live on my own, Patroclus. I won't. I will not be happy without you. I was going to be the first happy hero, remember?” Achilles murmurs, fighting back the fond laugh tickling the back of his throat. Laughter has no place here.

“It was supposed to be you and I, me and you. This, and this, and this, remember? Even if you do not, I promise you I'll never forget. I'll never forget you.”

Achilles walks away from the beach then. He leaves the spear, a symbol of their love that will remain forever hidden by sand and water and time.

They are a tragedy never to be revealed. Their story will never be written the way Patroclus would have intended it. 

They are a beautiful tragedy, an exploding supernova. 

They were lovers in the dark, hidden away in the mountains and behind palace walls, and Gods how good it was. 

They are, and always will be, and always have been; completely, utterly, in love with one another.

He approaches his tent, ducking inside quickly. Sand is stuck to his tear stained cheeks, and it still feels hard to breathe. His airways are clogged with stale ocean air and painful memories. 

He sinks down beside the bed, beside the lifeless body of his everything. It's the first time he has allowed himself to be up close, to see his cold face through blurry eyes.

Even in death, Patroclus takes his breath away. He cannot stop himself from linking their fingers together for a moment, one last time. His hands are cold and limp, an icy reminder that they will not respond to his touch.

“We never said the words aloud, because we always assumed we had more time,” Achilles whispers, stroking his cold forehead. His eyes are shut, his skin too pale. “We always assumed there would be one more time, one more night. I cannot believe I was that stupid.”

“I love you, Patroclus. I will love you, even in death. I will find you again. I will not stop until I do,” Achilles whispers, every word a sincere promise, fingers running through his lost lover's hair. 

His body is taken away in the morning, and Achilles fights until he takes his last breath. The last thing he sees behind the darkness of his eyelids is the moment right after the first time. He remembers his feet pounding against the sand as it turned into forest, running away from the first real thing he had ever felt.

As he remembers running, he starts running again. His feet hit the ground as the darkness overwhelms him, and he begins traveling towards the only thing that kept him alive for so long.

+

_ Their fingers lock together in the darkness, two lost hands finding their way home. _

_ It is enough. _

_ This, he remembers. This and this and this. _


End file.
